


Tomorrow, At Dawn

by Shamione



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crying, Denial, Draco cries, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Good Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Cancer, Minor Character Death, POV Hermione Granger, Romance, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24962581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shamione/pseuds/Shamione
Summary: Blaise Zabini is gone, according to the somewhat deranged looking Draco Malfoy who has invaded Hermione's self-date at Flourish and Blotts this Friday evening. Why does he seem so on edge? What information is he seeking? And frankly, why does he smell so awful?A scavenger hunt of sorts leads them down an odd road as anonymous notes keep pushing them further South.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 27
Kudos: 124





	1. Flourish and Blotts

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, loves! This is a 4 part/chapter story that will end up having between 12k - 20k words. It is actually derived from a Parks & Rec episode, the one with Zorpe's return and the world ending the next dawn. :) It has certainly developed from the original funny story I intended, but I really like where it has gone. It is also my first T rated story, so no smut in this one.
> 
> Trigger warning: mentions of cancer, mentions of death by cancer of secondary character

Hermione yawned, stretching her arms upward over her head as the tightness within her frame crested and slinked away.

Yet another successful evening of perusing the piles and decompressing in a chair well-formed to her figure. Hermione smiled a touch, gazing about the vacant bookstore as the scent of new parchment permeated her senses with a tingle of pleasure.

She cherished Flourish and Blotts and everything that accompanied the well-known walls. The jangle of the door's bell when a new patron entered. The faint light for reading passages while you wrapped yourself up next to the somewhat madly located hearth eternally breathing with a fire. The deep maroon walls, nostalgic of a common room long ago lived in, padded with unspoiled and refurbished books pleading for anyone to peruse them.

A familiar magically amplified melodious jingle brought her from a daydream as she shut the book resting on her legs. Halima, the new owner from Cairo, Egypt, must have started her closing routine early this evening, bringing in the signs from outside. And at that, Hermione decided her newest Friday tradition must, yet again, come to an end.

Hermione uncurled her legs from underneath her, the emerald chair's cushion exhaling a whisper of relief as the hours of her pressure released. With a slight flick of her wand, the fire fell from life. A regular Friday habit that she had commenced assisting Halima with her closing routine.

The newest bookstore proprietor was an aged widow of the previous owner who had vanished during the Second Wizarding War. And Hermione tried to do as much as she possibly could to assist the kindly woman.

A screech of a loud male voice sounded around the book-thronged room, and Hermione grimaced. Evidently, it had been a rather irate customer who has entered her haven, not Halima. The noise grew louder, the words still muffled, as she briskly traveled to the entryway.

A well-known head of long, platinum locks invaded her sights before the man's deep, irritated call rang through the small store anew.

"You must know something!"

It was a deranged looking Draco Malfoy snarling as he thrashed a thin piece of paper in the air in front of Halima's face.

His hair was mayhem - long and shaggy and wholly unkempt. A sheen highly similar to Severus Snape's murky tresses glistening under the overhead light. His generally well-manicured clothing was askew, his shirt untucked and unbuttoned, his tie missing, and his jacket wrinkled. His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with a darkness Hermione hadn't seen in years. And his lips, surrounded by a rugged stubble, were stretched into a sneer that he had long ago abandoned.

A wholly separate picture from his everyday appearance.

Draco Malfoy operated a low-level job at the Ministry these days, within the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures Beast division. Just across from the Beings division office, which she currently directed. He stayed to himself mostly, creating as few ripples as feasible, striving somewhat desperately to exist unnoticed.

So, Hermione had noticed him. Quite a lot.

She frequently observed him in the hallways, a somewhat sullen expression on his increasingly handsome features more often than not. He rarely ate lunch in the atrium or with others, choosing to remain at his desk until 5 p.m. The exact time he went home every day without fail. Without smiling. Without laughing.

His demeanor had been mostly consistent from the moment he shuffled out of his Death Eater hearing over eight years ago. He and his mother had been condemned to two years of probation for their alleged crimes against wizard-kind. And in an extraordinary act of discipline, had been required to serve one year as muggles within London. No magic, no wand. Just he and his mother experiencing an ordinary, average muggle existence.

The front page of The Daily Prophet had been littered with their pictures for weeks following, blaming them first of bribery and then dark magicks to receive lesser sentences. Rita Skeeter - the lying, double-crossing, no-good beetle - had penned numerous poisonous and damaging articles of their plight. Some of which featured photographs of two in the muggle world endeavoring to show their shame. 

But Hermione knew the ultimate truth, despite the wizarding world's rejection of reality. Draco's mother, Narcissa, had protected the very fabric of the society so many loved dearly with a mere nod of her head and a single word. A single lie.

And Draco had saved their lives on more than one occasion that could have provided him notoriety within Voldemort's ranks. But he had shielded she, Harry, and Ron from the Dark, even enduring torture for his "failures" afterward. He had saved their lives and inadvertently aided the preservation of the very world that sought so deeply to turn their backs on him.

Fortunately, their infamy had been short-lived - their repute becoming a piece of history the instant golden boy Harry Potter proposed to Ginny Weasley.

More than eight weeks following their sentencing, Hermione bumped into the pair at a muggle bookstore. And both had appeared to be flourishing - counter to what the inane articles would have had wizards and witches believe. 

They looked healthier than they had in years, she noted. Lucius' imprisonment in Azkaban and Voldemort's demise had positively agreed with them, apparently allowing their authentic natures return.

His mother's laugh was bright, and even Draco wore a meager smile on his lips. Narcissa looked full of life, her skin rosy and somewhat tanned as if they had been to the beach or a pool. She wore a very flattering muggle maxi-dress whose swirl of color gave her eyes a new sheen, so displaced from her prior ego.

Draco sat beside her in a muggle tee-shirt and jeans, his hair cropped on the slides with length on top pushed back. He had a set of black-framed glasses on his nose as he examined a book while his mother chattered. And she noticed the intricate dragon tattoo that spanned a good portion of his left arm - covering his Dark Mark.

It had taken at least ten minutes for Hermione to form the courage to approach them in their reading corner. But whatever fear had stalled her had been wholly unfounded. Narcissa had leaped from her seat, prattling and sobbing. She clutched Hermione's hand over the testimony she had provided in private before their trials, which had _somehow_ slipped into the papers a few days prior - looking at that slimy Rita Skeeter again. 

Draco's face had fallen morose, gazing at his shoes after he stood, shoving his hands in his pockets for most of their interaction. Until he breathed loudly, meeting her eyes and declaiming only the words _thank you, Granger_ , before tucking tail and nearly sprinting from the shop. Leaving Narcissa somewhat confused in his wake.

She hadn't seen them after that. Hadn't remarked any mention of them in the papers or overheard rumblings of their names. Until Draco's CV hovered across Gethsemane Prickle's desk during one of their many meetings a few short weeks after the Malfoy's probation had been scheduled to end.

Prickle, Department Head for the DRCMC, had been wary of hiring Draco, after her parents' outspoken praise of Voldemort during the war. But Hermione had managed to convince her to merely grant him an interview with some possibly less than truthful declarations.

He had started three weeks following and had been the picture-perfect employee, making no waves, keeping his head down and doing his menial work from day one. A small, vocal sect of their department showed their disapproval that a Death Eater was allotted a job amongst them. But before Hermione had been able to intervene, Prickle had rebuked them, urging them to move past hate or find a new job, which some had.

She attempted to chat with Draco on occasion, but their conversation had been stilted. He was perpetually cordial but regularly reserved, generally not delving further than the typical how do you dos. A lifelessness in his eyes that made her somewhat concerned, wholly discouraged, as their conversations waned each time.

She often invited him to lunch, but he consistently refused. On a handful of occasions, Hermione visited his desk soliciting his company in grabbing drinks with a few folks from their department following work. But he resolutely refused each time under the guise of previous plans.

In true Granger fashion, she had refused to relent. She wasn't positive how the desire for his happiness or acceptance had snuck under her skin, but she couldn't turn her back to it. He resembled a wounded creature, and her heart pleaded with her subconscious to make him smile just once. To take him to lunch and speak with him genuinely to know that he was okay.

But here he stood, a manic expression on his features as he screamed at Halima, and Hermione conceded he was not _alright_.

"You must know _something_!" Draco roared anew, crashing his fist atop the counter, dragging Hermione into action.

"Malfoy, what are you doing?" She sought as she swooped in, hauling him apart from where Halima stood utterly confused and slightly terrified.

"Let go of me," Draco sneered, pulling his arm from her grasp, stumbling a touch as she urged him toward the door. 

"Why are you harassing Halima?" Hermione huffed, throwing her hands onto her hips and cocking her head to the side.

"Who the hell is that?"

"The kind, elderly woman you just assaulted with a scrap of parchment."

"I assaulted no one!"

"It was an exaggeration. What is wrong with you?"

"Is there anyone else in this bloody shop?" Draco growled, swaying as he rubbed a hand under his nose.

"No, as they are about to close in," Hermione paused, checking her mother's watch, which adorned her wrist, "one minute."

"Bloody wonderful timekeeping skills, Granger," he growled sarcastically. Hermione could smell the overpowering aroma of whiskey as his breath invaded her space then.

"Are you drunk?"

"You. You're the only one here. Did you send this note?" He snarled, waving the parchment in front of her face as he strode into her space somewhat threateningly.

"Would you stop," she huffed, seizing the sheet from his hand.

 _Flourish and Blotts. 8:55 p.m. Friday._ _MED1340._

"I didn't send this note. What is this about?"

"This is none of your concern, Granger."

"You've just made it my concern, Malfoy!"

"I do _not_ need your help!"

"You do. You're obviously not thinking straight, and you're too drunk to realize MED1340 is a stack number."

Draco's eyebrows waved together a few times, his nostrils flaring as his brain processed the information. A realization slowly settled into his stiff lips as his eyes widened somewhat. He growled deep within his throat as he bolted into action, shouldering past Hermione roughly as he vaulted the short flight of stairs two at a time, gripping the handrail.

"Malfoy!" Hermione bellowed, but he vanished into the stacks before his full surname padded past her lips.

Merlin, he was acting strange, actually showing some sort of emotion, even if it was insanity at the moment.

"I'm sorry, Halima. I'll get him out," Hermione apologized, hoping she showed her sincerity in the expression she offered the shop owner.

"Take your time, Akila," Halima responded, a soft smile on her face.

By the time she stomped up the stairs to the shallow walkway that held the medical and medicinal texts, Draco had already ripped virtually every book in section 1340 from their shelves. Half laid open at his feet, and the other share was flung about the walkway haphazardly. He was tearing the last several books from the rack when she gripped his wrist tightly to halt him.

He sneered, jerking his hand away with an angry growl.

"Malfoy, stop! Just breathe for a moment."

"There's nothing here!" He cried.

"How would you know? You've torn the shelf nearly apart."

"Something should be here!"

"What is..."

"I don't have time to explain my life to you, Granger!" Draco snarled, attempting to step over books to pass her.

Hermione moved into his path on the narrow walkway and shoved against his chest gingerly. Draco tumbled over backward, somewhat dramatically, stepping and slipping on a few books, which made her soul ache.

"You're not going anywhere until you clean this mess up!"

"The shop has an owner, does it not?" Draco snarled, righting himself and leaning against the ledge to below.

"It does. And Halima is not your house-elf!"

Draco crossed his arms over his chest with an irritatingly smug sneer, and his eyebrow cocked high in challenge. But Hermione had limited fight in her tonight, sighing as she shook her head. 

"Just leave then," she demanded, bending and collecting an arm full of texts to replace on the shelves.

"You're a witch, Granger."

"And I don't have to do everything with magic, _Malfoy_."

Hermione huffed as she collected and stacked books. Draco towered over her, another scoff leaving his lips as he tapped his foot in her peripheral. 

She lifted a large, somewhat heavy leather-bound text, and a polished, synthetic cover of an unmistakable muggle book fell exposed underneath. A muggle medical textbook that most assuredly should not be within the walls of a magical bookstore.

"This one is muggle," Hermione stated quietly, scooping the book in her hand and standing.

"Don't mumble," Draco scoffed, his foot still rapping as if she were in his way to leave.

"This is a muggle textbook used at universities. They utilize them..."

"I know what a bloody textbook is, Granger. I did attend Oxford."

"Wait, you what?"

"Give it here," Draco demanded, attempting to snatch the book from her hands, but she tugged it away, moving backward somewhat.

"Not until you tell me what is wrong!"

"Give me the dammed book, Granger!"

"Just relax for a moment," Hermione replied as he stalked toward her, tripping and stumbling over another book in the process.

"I can't relax! He's gone!"

"Who is gone?"

"Blaise!"

"Blaise Zabini?"

"Who else do you know named Blaise," Draco scoffed, throwing her a scathing sneer.

He lunged for the book anew, and Hermione snatched it back again. A sharp sting reverberated through her index finger, and she yelped. Shaking her hand furiously, she hopped up and down, stomping her feet back and forth as a long seethe left her lips.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you, witch?"

"Papppppper cut," she hissed, thrusting the finger in her mouth.

Draco laughed a touch, somewhat reluctantly, and Hermione wrinkled her nose with a roll of her eyes. But she wasn't irate. She found herself slightly relieved to know that he actually _could_ genuinely laugh still.

Drawing her pointer from her mouth, she examined the spine of the muggle book to discern what had caused her injury. A small, almost imperceptible bit of parchment stuck out from the top of the new pages' crisp lines. She stuck a fingernail against the paper and let the book fall open in her hand.

Adhered to a page about cancer detection was a sole slip of parchment holding only a single line of text. Hermione extracted it from the book and heard Draco growl slightly.

_Hold the book, 9:15._

"That's for me," Draco snarled, seizing the thin slip of parchment from her grasp, studying it as his face scrunched further. "Hold the book? That's it? Useless!"

"Merlin, Malfoy. I truly thought you held a measure of intelligence. Are you dense?"

"Piss off, Granger. This is nonsense!"

"Because you're drunk. It makes perfect sense for you to hold that book at 9:15, as it's likely a Portkey."

"Piss off..." he growled quieter, looking a bit abashed.

He sneered somewhat, much less heated than his prior angst, venturing to pass around Hermione again. But she moved into his way anew on the tiny landing walkway, bumping his firm chest as she set her free hand on her hip.

"Clean this mess up before you leave," Hermione demanded.

Draco rolled his eyes but flicked his wand. The discarded and neglected books shook then cast themselves from the floor, straightening along the wooden shelves once more.

"Happy?" He grimaced, tugging the book she held loosely from her grasp.

"Simply thrilled."

"If you'll excuse me."

"I will not. You're not going without me," Hermione said resolutely, planting her feet as her other hand adorned her hip.

"This is not your problem, Granger."

"It is now! Look at you. You can't do whatever _this_ is on your own!"

"I'm fine on my own!" 

"Nonsense! Let me help you."

"I don't need anyone's help."

"No, you _refuse_ help," she scoffed, jabbing a finger into Draco's chest. "Even when you do desperately need it!"

"Move, Granger."

"No, and you've got," she started, rechecking her watch, "less than two minutes to accept that I'll be accompanying you."

"Or I could _move you_ and refuse to let you touch this book," he said with a sneer that now held little heat.

"Hold out the book, Malfoy."

He hesitated for a moment, snarled, and muttered inaudibly to himself before hoisting the book between them.

"I didn't catch that _mumble_ ," Hermione grinned, gripping the opposite edge.

"I said you're bloody anno..."

But his words were cut short as her naval pulled backward, her vision fracturing somewhat as nausea grew in her gut. Her body felt like it melted as their world whirled, snapping them out of Flourish and Blotts with a small pop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halima called Hermione "Akila" which is an Egyptian name that means "Intelligent"
> 
> Halima is an Egyptian name that means "Gentle"
> 
> ...according to the internet.


	2. A Parisian Surprise

"I loathe Portkey travel," Hermione groaned as her head throbbed, her eyes locked shut to shield her orbs from any latent light.

"You didn't have to come," Draco intoned, a pronounced slur lacing his words.

"I unquestionably did. I refuse to be liable for your very preventable death."

Hermione whined inaudibly as the queasiness in her abdomen slowly slinked off. Draco snorted indignantly, scuffling off as the book they both had been clutching left her grasp. She remained still for a moment longer before cracking her eyes to observe them occupying…

A hotel room?

"Where are we?" She sought, a tad flabbergasted.

"You assume I know?" Draco replied, staggering toward an elegant sofa that rested in front of a lifeless, beautifully embellished hearth.

"This isn't some weird trick, is it Malfoy?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Granger."

"You barge into Flourish and Blotts screeching, offer me barely anything when I seek to help you, and now we've Portkeyed into a hotel room!"

"I did not screech. And you didn't have to come."

Hermione huffed then, rolling her eyes at his indifference. _His_ mate was the one who was allegedly missing, and he appeared to care solely when it was suitable for him. Draco staggeringly slumped into the couch with a perturbation, laying across it as he groaned lowly.

"We should look for clues if Zabini is missing. We've been brought here for a reason." 

"Have at it," he said, throwing his legs across the arm of the couch, his back flat against the cushions, while he whirled his hand around in the air. 

"I'd think you'd be more concerned," Hermione tutted. 

"I'm attempting not to retch, Granger." 

Merlin, was he genuinely still this irritating as a person? Or was his overindulgence in whiskey making him behave like an utter git? He was so passive at work, hardly ever disagreeable. But clearly, a shadow of his former self nevertheless lived deep within him. 

Hermione shook her head as his hand disappeared, obscured by the back of the couch that faced her. Her eyes investigated the sitting-room about her then, but nothing showed to be overly threatening or disparaging. 

Elegant, antique furniture littered the room, an odd sensation of intimacy settling over her as the cream-colored walls sought to soothe her mood. A fireplace sat on the far wall, fronted by the sprawling couch where Draco laid and flanked by pairs of double glass doors. Entries that were open as a delicate breeze swept through the sheer white curtains dangling at their sides. 

The sonances of the outside atmosphere reverberated into her mind as she trod toward the exits. And Hermione gasped audibly as her footsteps connected with the stone balcony. 

"We're in Paris…" she breathed. 

"Why do you believe that?" Draco inquired from the couch. 

"The Eiffel Tower." 

Sitting what seemed to be just beyond their red flower-lined balcony was a wonder of the world she had unceasingly dreamed of observing. The bright lights glittered and glistened deep into her soul as her orbs started to overflow with tears. 

Now that she was here in Paris, the sheer size of the tower and the thin layer of latent magic in the air were indescribable. Surreal. It could have been the lights. Or magic. Or the atmosphere. But a delicate sigh left her lips, followed by a sniffle as she gazed over the masterpiece. 

She wandered somewhat dazedly to the wrought-iron railing, grasping it tightly as she grappled with reason. The long lines of the tower, extended by the rows of lights below it, were breathtakingly beautiful. Her mother and father had attempted to explain the picture once, promising they would visit one day, but nothing rivaled the real experience. Though, maybe their company would. 

"Definitely Paris," Draco intoned from the doorway, pulling Hermione's gaze. "Are you crying?" He grinned dumbly, an insensitive laugh passing his lips. 

"Sod off," she whispered, casting her eyes downward as she cleared away the sadness of her lost opportunities with a sleeve. 

Her sights settled on a candlelit table that she had wholly overlooked as her arms cleared her vision. A smattering of candles perched on top of a white cloth clad table that was adorned with two black chairs. A pair of flutes, filled with what she assumed was champagne, sat on either side of a shining silver serving platter at the center of the table. 

Which held at its middle a short scroll bound with a red ribbon. 

"Another note," she declared, easing into a chair as she untied the bindings. 

A small galleon plummeted to the table with a clink as the meager scroll unfurled. Draco approached her, looming behind her seat and gazing over her shoulder as she flattened the parchment to read. 

  
  


_Be ready by 11:00 p.m._

  
  


"Ready for what?" He derided. 

"As if I know." 

He leaned over her then, jerking a flute of the champagne to his lips before she could stop him. 

"You don't know what is in that!" 

"I'm not dying yet, so it's fine." 

"You can't just drink unknown substances when you've got no clue who's leading you on some chase!" 

"It's champagne," he shrugged, taking another deep pull from the tall glass. 

A fresh wave of annoyance waved through her as she drove the chair back, knocking it into his shin. He growled a touch, his eyebrows knit as she stood, her ardent gaze meeting his. 

"If we're in Paris, then we're an hour ahead. So just 40 minutes until this Portkey is active." 

"Truly a master of time." 

"Sod off," she growled, shouldering past him back inside. 

He was in a foul mood, one that tried to slither under her skin and ruin the lovely evening she had been having. And to top it off, Hermione could sense anxiety striving to overtake adrenaline as realization set in that she had just portkeyed to another country with a man she honestly didn't know. Seeking to help him solve some kind of abduction if his meager clues were anything by which to go. 

Hermione sighed, glancing over her shoulder at Draco's back. And the depressingly meek sight rang through her soul. His shoulders sat slumped as he almost laid across the balcony's railing, one hand in his hair and the other hovering his champagne glass over the railing to below. 

He looked defeated. There were no other words to describe it. Drunk, yes. But ultimately defeated. A small sense of pity fluttered through Hermione's gut, her brows knitting as she turned away. Examining the rest of their room. 

On either side of the tiny sitting-room into which they had dropped were sprawling sets of wooden paired doors. _Elaborate_ and wholly unnecessary in size, but Hermione conceded they echoed the chamber's theme, which she could now process - antique French. 

Hermione sighed, traveling into the room to the left, pushing open the double doors with irritation. 

The walls on the inside were just as elaborate as the sitting room behind her. Wainscoting forded the expanse, painted a soft white, shining against a cream and golden background. A large bed sat on the far wall headed by a gold fabric board that seemed to shimmer under the soft lighting. 

The bathroom she wandered into was quainter than she would have assumed. A single clawfoot tub with a shower wand sat opposite a small sink and toilet, and not much else. Other than a shimmering red vial that red Sober Up adorning the top of the marble sink surround. 

An unusual countertop ornament by any standard. As if it were placed there specifically for Draco. And she assumed it had been. 

Shaking her head, she paced back into the room, intent on trying out the bed. But her eyes landed on a flimsy pair of men's shorts as her feet drew nearer to the comfort. 

"Malfoy, there is men's clothing on the bed," she shouted, unfolding a pair of relaxed linen shorts with a snicker. 

Draco sauntered through the door a minute later, sipping what she assumed was the second glass of champagne with a somewhat sad expression. She grinned slightly, lofting the white trousers in the air, shaking the unstructured legs back and forth. And she couldn't hold the laugh at the entirely offended expression that crumpled his face. 

"Time to get ready," she giggled aloud. 

"Like hell, I'm putting those on!" 

"Oh, you _must_ !" 

"No way in Merlin's saggy balls am I wearing those shorts." 

"At least take a shower. When was the last you had one?" 

"None of your business," he mocked. 

"Well, you stink. Brush your teeth, too." 

"Why does it even matter?" 

"You don't know where that Portkey will take us." 

"If I have to wear _those,_ it can't be anyplace healthy." 

"Take a shower. You've got 35 minutes," Hermione sang, tossing the trousers onto the mattress and stalking past him, shutting the door tight. 

When she was sure he'd not attempt to trail her, she turned, eyes settling on the second door, hoping what was behind mirrored what she had just observed. 

She wandered into the nearly identical second bedroom but found herself somewhat bewildered as her eyes dwelled on the large bed in the middle of the far wall. A white, linen sundress laid across the mattress, topped with another rolled parchment laced with a red ribbon. 

And she couldn't help but feel an odd swirl of fear, confusion, and excitement as she scrutinized the single line of text it contained. 

  
  


_Please, Hermione, help him through this._

  
  


The individual masterminding this strange night had involved her on purpose. Had urged Draco to Flourish and Blotts for more than just a muggle medical textbook. And had known she wouldn't be able to neglect someone in as significant distress as he had shown. 

This night couldn't be threatening or a kind of corruption. How could it be? Who would voluntarily plead with Hermione Granger, of all people, to help Draco solve his conundrum? Why would they afford clothing, and champagne, and a fancy hotel in Paris if anything nefarious was contrived? Unless that person _fancied_ their enigma explained. 

Hermione mulled over the evening as she had a swift shower, rinsing the day away before donning the white sundress. It was her exact size, and somehow that boiled a touch of unease in her gut. 

The soft fabric hugged her bust lightly, flaring just above her waist into a flowy skirt that landed five centimeters over her knee. It was simple, but she couldn't deny how lovely she felt as she gazed in the mirror. The dress was entirely complimentary to her figure, the white honoring her bronzed skin perfectly as her free chestnut curls bounced about her head. 

Hermione flicked her wand at the pile of discarded clothing from her day. She cursed herself for choosing to leave her beaded bag at home as the clothes shrank in size. She'd now be stuck with tiny clothing and a small medical textbook, that she found underneath the sitting room ottoman, in her pockets all night long. Joined by the single line note addressed to her. 

The air in the sitting room was thick with calming magic as the sounds of outside blew in. She could feel the tingle of mysticism as it caressed her skin, trying to drown away her anger. Draco's door was still sealed tight, so she allotted the final ten minutes that lingered between them and their future Portkey's activation, to be spent out on the terrace. 

Hermione welcomed the breeze that blew through her hair as she stepped back onto the balcony. A delightful aroma permeated her senses as she gazed about the corridor below and at the tower in front of her. The latent, engrained magic on the air danced across her skin, and she felt a further calmness fall settle over her. Her eyes closed softly as her head tipped up, allowing the breeze access to her neck. 

"It's nearly time," Draco's smooth voice verbalized behind her, no trace of drunkenness in his tone. 

Hermione glimpsed over her shoulder with an effortless smile then. Draco was leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest. He had a simple, yet entirely sad look on his face as he gazed at her, his smile forcing a flutter of both melancholy and calmness into her nerves. 

And Hermione couldn't help the blush that graced her features at such an inopportune time. He looked utterly handsome as the moon and tower's light shone in his eyes and against his pale skin. His tresses were washed and styled, resembling waves crashing upon sand, and the stubble on his chin had vanished. 

She couldn't deny that his features had been an object of her desire for quite some time. Hermione didn't know exactly when it happened, but she often found herself daydreaming of his deep silver eyes. His muscular arms and his broad shoulders always enticed her notice when she stopped by his desk. His smooth yet raspy voice played on repeat through her mind, even if it was his constant rejections. 

Though, she couldn't hold her titter as her sights examined his attire. He had adorned the white linen pants. But had paired them with his suit jacket and shirt, appearing entirely mismatched. 

"I was about to come get you." 

"Luckily, I can also read a clock," he smirked lightly, no heat in his tone. 

Hermione pushed off the banister then, trailing the short distance to the doors. She giggled further the closer she moved, joining him in the doorway. 

"You look nice," he offered quietly. 

"And you look a tad uncomfortable," she smiled. 

"I'm wearing linen shorts. Of course, I'm uncomfortable!" 

"At least take off the jacket," Hermione laughed a touch. "I'll shrink it and put it in my pocket with my clothes." 

"Sure it wasn't you sending those notes? Trying to drag me to Paris to get me out of my clothes?" He snickered lightly, the coat slowly slipping from his shoulders. 

"You've found me out," she feigned dramatically, shrinking his jacket and slipping it into her already crowded pocket. "I couldn't stand one more lunch rejection, so I've pulled an elaborate heist. Roll up your sleeves?" 

He shrugged, holding out his arm as if granting her the opportunity to do so for him. Hermione rolled her eyes with a scoff but felt her hands lift on their own, grazing lightly against his as her fingers unbuttoned his sleeve. She shifted the fabric up his right arm, and he chuckled, lofting his left with a smirk that made her blush a touch more. 

She has forgotten that colorful ink adorned his arm, but it was a welcome surprise over the Dark Mark she had anticipated seeing. A large, rather elegant dragon's caramel and honey-colored eyes stared back at her as she pushed his sleeve a touch beyond his elbow. It was an elaborate tattoo, realistic and lined with dark red flowers, and every centimeter of the Dark Mark wholly hidden beneath. The concept made Hermione smile a bit - that a _muggle_ technology could easily hide an insignia of superiority that deemed them less than. 

"I didn't tell you before, but I think this is beautiful," she remarked, tapping the dark emerald and silver dragon on his forearm with a soft smile. 

"It doesn't take away the memories…" He murmured, his gloomy gaze falling to his forearm. 

His somewhat shifted demeanor was strange but appeared to unwind Hermione's anger at him. He no longer seemed manic, or distraught. Only a sadness rooted in his gaze that showed her something was wrong. Something she increasingly believed wasn't an abduction at all. 

The deep sensation to protect him washed over her again, and she found herself itching to hold him. To ensure him everything was alright. Her fingers trailed the button line of his shirt, pausing at the top before slipping the button loose. Followed by the second and third. 

When her eyes met his anew, his orbs were somewhat round, a bright blush embellishing his cheeks as she snatched her hands away swiftly. An embarrassment gracing her features as she moved back, clearing her throat. Merlin, where had her mind gone? Was the latent magicks ingrained in the soil, wafting in the air, the atmosphere, the softness between them all making her hormones rage? No wonder it was called the City of Love. 

Draco smiled softly, lofting the galleon between them, his fingers holding more than half as he tried to allow her room. 

"That won't work. We'll both drop it and who knows where we'll end up." 

Hermione seized the coin and slipped it into the palm of her hand. With a delicate smile, she held it out for him, but his eyebrows furrowed as he gazed at her fingertips. 

"I don't have Dragon Pox, Malfoy," she huffed, holding her hand out stiffer for him to take. 

An effortless yet increasingly handsome smirk fell over his lips as he slid his hand across hers loosely. Hermione clasped their hands tightly, gripping firmly to ensure they wouldn't disconnect, and tugged him away from the wall toward the middle of the balcony. 

"I apologize if I made you cry earlier," he whispered as they gazed out over the foreign grounds. 

"You didn't," she assured him, with a minute squeeze of their joined hands. 

They waited in the middle of the balcony for a moment, in silence, taking in the last sights of the Eiffel Tower before her navel pulled back, and they were again whirling endlessly with a small pop. 


	3. The End of the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mentions of cancer and secondary character death by cancer

No matter the volume of travel she endured via Portkey, the sensation of her stomach soaring into her throat and threatening to spill past her lips never ceased. When her feet scraped the ground, Hermione groaned, swaying a bit as a pounding in her head raged.

A cacophony of noise blared against her eardrums, thumping about the walls of her already pained brain. She could smell the distinct fragrance of burning cedar and a faint aroma of food that made her ache to retch. She bent slightly, her eyes shut firm as she pleaded with her body to retain its contents.

"You alright?" Draco questioned, sliding his hand around her waist to steady her.

"I truly hate Portkey travel…" Hermione murmured, covering her lips with a firm hand.

They stood there for a moment, his hand heating her side as the nausea pervading her abdomen slowly slid away. Replaced by a racing heartbeat at his closeness. The lingering moment on their Persian balcony circulating through her.

"I'm fine," she stated, her eyes still closed. 

"I definitely wasn't expecting this," Draco pronounced plainly, a gentle breeze chilling Hermione's body as his arm dropped away.

The unmistakable scent of burning wood was just that she realized as her eyes fluttered wide. Littered across a somewhat canopied field, surrounded by deep willow trees, were a plethora of small fires. Around which people were dancing, chatting, singing, and all-around drinking merely. People from all walks of life, young and old, mingled, clinking glasses and throwing their arms around one another. Not a frown in the crowd.

Everyone wore some fashion of white linen. Many women donned dresses similar to hers, flowy and lined with lace, while others dressed only in a bandana in their hair - stark naked. The men were no different; half were clad in white linen shorts or trousers, and the other half sporting barely a scrap of fabric tied around their wrists or neck.

"Oh my…" Hermione chuckled somewhat. "The suit jacket surely would have been out of place."

"That's all you can think?" Draco laughed wholeheartedly, and Hermione found the sonance the most delightful she had overheard all night.

"I'm just attempting not to stare at their… nether regions."

"Nether regions?" He laughed louder. "Are you 100, Granger?"

"Shut up!" She scoffed playfully, slapping his shoulder gently as a smile graced his lips - a real, full smile which she hadn't observed since the day she had regarded him and his mother from the stacks of a bookstore.

"Ah, you're here," a tall, lean man in low cut linen pants that kissed the ground with no shirt sang. And Hermione found herself glad he merely had trousers _on._

"Who are you?" Draco growled slightly, his mood shifting so abruptly it surprised her.

"My name is Howard, and this," he said happily, trailing a hand through the air to indicate the party about them, "is the Twilight Society."

"Howard, if you don't mind me asking - where are we?" Hermione sought, setting a hand on Draco's bicep to halt his inevitable assault of questions.

"I do not mind at all, my dear," the older man smiled. "We are in Réserve Naturelle Petite Camargue. Just outside of Montpellier," he drawled, his French flawless.

"Southern France. But you sound English?" Hermione questioned.

"Oh, I am. There are members here from all over Europe. Some of our African and Asian worshipers have joined us, as well," he smiled brightly.

"Worshipers?" Hermione sought, striving to find a clue that may tie these people with anything that had come before them that night.

"Before that, I have something for you," Howard spoke, turning to Draco with a grin.

A simple snap of long fingers and a small slip of parchment appeared, hovering between Hermione, Draco, and their new companion Howard. He smiled sincerely, lofting his hand toward the red ribbon wrapped note, urging Draco to accept it.

Draco scoffed somewhat, snatching the parchment from the air with a sneer. It unfurled, and Hermione noticed another Portkey as it slid into Draco's waiting hand. His shoulders stiffened suddenly, and she could see another layer of anger waiting to for force itself through his pores.

"What is this about? Who are you? Why do you have this?" Draco snarled.

"I was merely charged with delivering this note upon your arrival. And to your core question. The Twilight Society is an assemblage of like-minded witches and wizards who unite in commemoration of the world's end. Or worship, if you will," he smiled at Hermione.

"I don't care what you worship!" Draco shouted suddenly, taking a threatening step toward Howard, who cowered back a touch.

"Malfoy! That's enough!" Hermione cried, drawing Draco back by the arm. "I'm so sorry, Howard. If you could excuse us for a moment. This is truly a lovely party."

"I will be near the main fire should you need me," Howard grinned, bowing gracefully before sauntering away as smoothly as he had entered.

"What is your problem, Malfoy!" Hermione squawked, turning Draco with a huff so that their fronts faced.

"Another bloody one line note!" He cried.

"Give it here," she demanded with an outstretched hand, at which he snarled yet complied.

_Tomorrow, at Dawn_

"Malfoy, this shouldn't make you so irrationally angry. What is going on?"

"Blaise is gone, and whoever is sending me these notes knows something!"

"Why do you think Blaise is gone?"

"I just know he is!"

"None of these notes have been ominous, Malfoy. So far they've sent you to a bookstore, a hotel in _Paris_ , a rather extravagant party in Southern France to celebrate the apparent end of the world. And not once has someone tried to attack you or hurt your or, frankly, be anything less than nice to you."

"Someone here has an answer," Draco said quietly.

"You need to relax."

"How do I simply move past him being _gone_?!" He questioned with a raised, pained pitch. It seemed as though he might cry before his face hardened, his body stiffening as his back snapped straight.

"Well, that's what I'm here for, apparently," she spoke, pulling out the slip of parchment that had been waiting on top of her dress. "This was in my room in Paris."

"None of this makes sense…" he whispered, his eyes scanning the note multiple times with knitted brows.

"We need to talk through his disappearance for clues. What more can you tell me?"

"I don't know, Granger…"

The pitiful look on his face made her heart pulse with a sense of familiarity. She could see tears welling in his eyes, and the utter distress in the lines on his face. Not anger, but sorrow. Not rage, but regret.

Where had Blaise gone? Why was Draco so adamant that he had disappeared? Though, Draco hadn't actually said Blaise vanished at all, had he? Merely insisted Blaise was _gone_. Had they gotten into a fight? Had Blaise simply stopped talking to Draco or moved away? Had Draco offended his best mate, and this was Blaise's way to seek revenge?

And who was sending the damned one-line notes? It was elaborate. Intentional. They had elicited someone to _personally deliver_ a letter at this stop, so they had to have known this celebration was occurring.

"Whoever is behind this registered numerous Portkeys. Surely someone in that office should know. I can send a Patronus to Harry. I should do that, regardless."

"Whatever, Granger. Do what you must."

"It's not what I want, Malfoy! I'm trying to help you find Zabini!"

When Blaise's surname passed her lips, Draco flinched. His face fell further, a touch of hardness befalling his features as she watched him strive not to cry.

"Why don't we just… rest. Try to relax by a fire. We're clearly not leaving here until dawn."

"I can leave whenever I choose, Granger, as can you…"

"Then go," she huffed. "Honestly, I've come this far, and I'm not going to let a few hours separate me from the next clue and finding your best mate," she intoned, snatching the small Portkey from Draco's hand as she spun on the balls of her feet.

Draco didn't follow her as she paced further into the crowds of wizards and witches. Most of whom had bright chroma on their skin and appeared reasonably drunk. Their laughter invaded the air over the soft music as they danced, freely enjoying themselves as one should if they believed the world to be ending in the mere hours to come.

Hermione wandered through the grassy field, the dew tickling her toes, the only light guiding her the moon and the roaring bonfires until she found a quiet spot under a large willow tree. The limbs nearly touched the ground as fairy lights twinkled against the full branches overhead. With a swish of her wand, a nearby rock transfigured into a comfortable blanket, falling across the ground onto which she sat.

With a swift flick of her wand, a glowing, blue, whispy otter danced around her, falling onto its back legs and cocking its head to the side as it anticipated instruction.

"Find Harry Potter. Tell him I am outside of Montpellier with Draco Malfoy. We are safe but are searching for… something. Ask him to check records of Portkeys approved from London to Paris and then Paris to a national reserve in Southern France. By the same person."

The otter nodded swiftly, floating around her neck with a nuzzle before lofting into the air and disappearing.

Hermione was alone for quite sometime after that, observing the grounds. The later the night grew, the louder the party's laughter rang. The more unseemly the patrons became. And she grew more and more worried that Draco had abandoned her here alone, her grip tight on her wand in caution.

But a flash of brilliant white hair and pale skin drew her attention as she regarded Draco shuffling sullenly toward her, his hands in his linen pockets and an entirely sad look on his face. He hesitated for a moment when he glanced up, noticing her gaze trained to him. But Hermione nodded to the open spot beside her with a soft smile, and his eyes fell back to the ground as he paced the final steps forward.

"Decided to stay?" She questioned as he sat stiffly beside her, pulling his knees into his chest with a defeated slump of his shoulders.

"No one knows anything."

"Harassed everyone, then?"

"And they just kept trying to give me drinks. And mushrooms," Draco sighed.

"Well, maybe Harry can figure something out."

"I doubt it…"

"What would you do if the world was truly ending tomorrow?" Hermione asked abruptly, and Draco's eyes met hers in confusion.

"They're celebrating the end of the world. And this is how they choose to spend their final night," she murmured, scanning the crowd of animated wizards and witches.

"I suppose I'd spend it with Blaise. And my mother."

"I'd do the same. Only with Harry and the Weasleys."

"Not your parents?" Draco sought, his sights falling back to blanket-covered ground around his toes.

"They… weren't the same after the war," Hermione responded quietly, a measure of sadness befalling her features.

"How so?"

"I… well."

"I'm sorry," he offered quietly. "I didn't mean to pry."

"No, it's fine. I… erased their memories after Dumbledore…" she froze, realizing what she had brought up.

"After the Astronomy Tower," he breathed, a further defeat lacing his form.

"Yes… and I was unable to restore them. So my parents do not know who I am."

"I'm sorry, Granger," Draco whispered, and she could see stress fall further into his shoulders.

"It wasn't your fault."

"If you believe so."

She knew it wasn't his fault, and that he held no real blame. At least, in her mind. He had been a child forced to act against his will to protect his family and his own life. Much the same as she and Harry had to function well beyond the age of their physical forms. But he clearly still held the burden of his actions on his soul. And Hermione found herself disheartened by the prospect he had yet to conquer his grief.

"They live in Australia now. I visit from time to time to make sure they're doing well," she delivered a few long, silent moments later.

"And are they?"

"Seem to be. Have a dental practice in a small town on the east coast."

"And the Weasel?" Draco asked, no heat in his tone, the faint glimmer of a smirk on his face.

"He's fine," Hermione laughed for a moment.

"Not married yet?"

"I believe he's planning to ask Susan soon."

"Susan?" Draco asked with a lifted eyebrow, his gaze meeting hers anew.

"Susan Bones. The witch he's been dating for five years?" Hermione laughed. "Surely you've seen the Prophet?"

"I get news from other sources. So you're not?"

"Me? No, I'm quite happy being self-partnered."

"Self-partnered?" He chuckled again, genuinely, and Hermione felt an easiness settle between them.

"I've dated on and off since Charlie and I split. But I'm _dating_ me right now. Learning who I am outside of others."

"And your dates with yourself include closing down bookstores on Friday nights?" He smiled softly, his sad eyes turning to her once more.

"I quite like reading," Hermione huffed but allowed the gentle smile that graced her lips to stay.

"I'm aware."

"What about you? Elusive Draco Malfoy is never in the papers."

"On purpose."

"I can understand the desire…"

Draco's eyes cast out toward the fires again as silence settled around them. His moods were so turbulent, falling into sadness without letting whatever glimmer of relief that tried to battle it away to win.

"I'm not dating anyone," he replied simply.

"No?"

"No. I sort of dated Astoria Greengrass for a time."

"How do you _sort of_ date a woman?"

"How do you date yourself?"

"Avoiding!"

"She would come to the Manor and…" 

"Oh, I don't need to hear more," Hermione pronounced, shaking her head as her hands waved in front of her.

"Have dinner," he laughed, but his face was wholly sad. "Eventually, she stopped coming. Found someone better, most likely."

"I doubt she could find someone better."

"Sure…"

"You truly went to Oxford?" Hermione inquired, her curiosity no longer contained as their conversation flowed.

"I did."

"How?"

"You do recall I lived as a muggle, correct?"

"Of course, but you didn't attend muggle primary."

"My DMLE caseworker helped me. When we saw one another in London, I was purchasing my first term's books."

"Why wouldn't you put that on your Ministry application?"

"And how do you know I didn't?" He questioned, a raised eyebrow meeting her perceptions.

"Well… Prickle wasn't going to allow your hire."

"And you?"

" _Suggested_ she interviews you. I didn't mean to snoop. Or overstep. I just thought you deserved a chance!" Hermione rambled loudly.

"Granger," he smiled, halting her long-winded remarks. "Thank you."

"I think it's brilliant you went to Oxford," Hermione offered with a genuine smile.

"Graduated from, actually."

"You continued even when you worked at the Ministry?" She urged, somewhat shocked.

"I started, and I wasn't going to quit halfway. I took night classes."

"So you actually did have prior engagements," she breathed, and he chuckled anew.

"Yes, Granger. I wasn't merely snubbing your requests."

"Well, maybe not at first."

"I suppose…" he said quietly, his demeanor falling sad almost instantly.

Hermione felt a touch guilty as their rapport fell away. She seemed to say all the wrong things that made his despair grow deeper. They two were silent for a long while, Draco picking at the blanket around his feet as his shoulders bounced somewhat. Hermione merely watching him as if he were going to disappear in a cloud of melancholy.

"Will you tell me what is truly wrong, Malfoy?" Hermione summoned quietly.

He was speechless for a time longer, but his shoulders shook heavier as his head sank to his knees. The utter defeat she had observed in Paris overtook his form again, and it appeared to radiate against the walls of her brain.

"Blaise is gone," he said softly into his knees.

And Hermione could hear the pain in his voice then, even if it was barely audible. The tears he was trying to keep quiet. The same turmoil that had invaded her consciousness when she found out her parents' memories couldn't be returned. The low hum of a close family member lost thumping against your heart and never letting go.

The now utterly clear clues floated to the forefront of her mind. The muggle medical textbook on cancer. The note begging her to help him through whatever tumultuous time he was having. The euphemism of a world reaching its end but in celebration rather than despair.

Blaise was _gone._

And Draco didn't know how to cope. Didn't know how to accept that his best mate was no longer around. Whatever the notes' real intent was wouldn't lead them to a lost, or sullen, or apologetic Blaise. Because he had died.

"Why don't you lay down and rest? I'll wake you near dawn," she responded, unknowing what else to do to fill their space.

"I can't simply sleep in the middle of a party."

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh, flicking her wand twice. The noise around them dulled as a soft ward shimmered down in a dome over them.

"Notice-me-not and a muffliato. Now lay down and rest."

"You're just going to watch me sleep?"

"Nope," she smiled, pulling the textbook from her pocket and enlarged it.

He let a smirk tick onto his features then, as wetness glistened over his cheeks, a watery laugh leaving his lips as he rocked his head. He laid down with a sigh, his back facing her, still shaking somewhat. And she knew he was still crying.

When his form fell still a touch later, she sighed, lofting her wand as a bright blue otter escaped the tip.

"Find Harry Potter and tell him I don't need the Portkey records," she whispered, and the otter slipped away without a backward glance.

Casting a bubble of magic to lean back into, a long yawn slipped past her lips. She let the text fall open in her lap as a second yawn befell her, the adrenaline that had been pent up wholly gone as exhaustion set in. She was able to read the first four pages of the muggle medical textbook, which was entirely focused on cancer, before her eyes drooped and she drifted to sleep.

"Granger, wake up," she heard ring through the void of her apparently dreamless sleep.

"Granger," sounded again, and this time a hand jostled her shoulder.

Her eyes fluttered open as the weight of the textbook on her stomach became apparent. It took a moment to recover her surroundings before her eyes settled on Draco, who wore a half-smile and lazy eyes that were a touch pink around his brilliant crystal grey irises.

"The timekeeper fell asleep," he chuckled somewhat.

"Oh, no! Did we miss it?" She shouted, sitting straight suddenly.

"No, luckily, I woke up when they started shooting fireworks."

The quietness about her finally settled then, more profound than the silencing charm had produced. All of the party's patrons were on their knees, some sitting cross-legged atop the ground. Wholly mute. Draco stood then, holding out a hand for her to help her up. 

"I assumed it was nearly dawn."

Hermione nodded, shrinking the textbook and padding it back into her dress pocket, drawing the small Portkey out in exchange. She palmed it, placing her hand, and the key into his as he extracted her from the ground.

They stood in silence, again, watching over the scenic views before the slightest hint of the sun's rays shone against the blackened sky. Her naval pulled back once more, their worlds spinning from their clasped hands as they popped out of the national reserve without a goodbye.


	4. A Seaside Breakdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mention of death by cancer of secondary character
> 
> This chapter ended up being a bit shorter than I expected, but it seemed to be a good stopping point when I was writing. I hope I didn't make anyone cry too awfully with this story. I told you it got a bit darker than the funny story I originally intended.
> 
> I do hope you enjoyed the story. Let me know. I love comments, they make my day! :) (But I'm not one of those comments or not writing people) 
> 
> Also - if you're following my story Vinculum Terrae, I apologize that it is taking so long to update. The chapter I'm working on is pivotal and I need to make sure all plot holes are covered. I'll get it up soon! If you're not reading it, I would personally recommend it. ;)
> 
> [Check out Vinculum Terrae here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23471545/chapters/56271586)

Draco's firm grasp slid around her waist before Hermione had an opportunity to groan, drawing her in close. His warmness appeared to soothe the nausea as it strived to strengthen in her gut, and she welcomed the change.

He vocalized no words as he clutched her securely, but his shuddered breaths on exhalings were evident. Hermione could hear the faint fluctuations of sniffles that he sought to hide behind the unmistakable noise of melodious waves laving upon rock in the distance.

When her eyes ultimately fluttered wide, the most stunning scene of the night greeted her with elegance.

The two were pressed together on a seaside cliff precipice, littered with yellow lilies that swayed softly in the early morning summer breeze. The sun was rousing to paint the blackened sky a tad purple as the beams slowly crept over the horizon before her. Ribbons of rays swept through the azure, brushing oranges and reds against the clouds that battled the stars' glow from the atmosphere.

But what caught her notice the greatest was a magnificently lit town which appeared carved into the cliffside. Veranda lamps flickered against homes coated in bright yellows, golds, blues, and oranges, which looked to become more radiant with each fleeting moment. Dim street lanterns echoed across the rocky water below, casting a delicate hue in the dew-soaked air.

It was quiet. The town seemed to linger in sleep as the small waves echoed against the stone below. Followed by Draco's tiny sniffles.

"Where are we?" Hermione sought, her sights studying the shimmering horizon.

"Manarola. Italy," he answered speechlessly.

His hold left her then, on a long, serrated exhale. Draco strode forward, traversing toward a bench before them. She noticed it held another rolled scroll - much wider than the previous notes - bound with a single red ribbon.

He hesitated for a moment, raising his hand to seize the letter three times before he palmed it. Hermione waited, conceding the time his face screamed desperately that he required as his eyes slowly studied the parchment. Tears slipping heavily down his cheeks as he seized what she assumed was a Portkey.

He lofted the note toward her as his eyes cast over the water - his reaction rippling an inkling of apprehension into her abdomen. As if she were infringing on a private significance meant only for his eyes. But she drew herself forward, gently lifting the letter from his fingers as he rounded the bench, sinking his hands upon a railing that separated him from the water below.

_Draco,_

_I'm positive the second you landed upon the cliff that you recognized where you stood._

_And I'm confident you're failing to believe this night was set up by me, and not some elaborate abduction or crime. Even if it was apparent from the moment you discovered the first letter on your bedside table. I'm going to trust you've known from the start that it was me._

_Mate, I'm dying. And by the time you read this, I'll be gone. I know you refuse to accept it. Forbid to admit that I won't be around any longer. But it is the truth. They can't stop the spread of my cancer, and it's going to take me. Sooner than we both wish._

_The war may be over, but I can see the battle inside you is still raging against every shred of happiness you could have. And you refuse to pull yourself out of it. I must do something so that you will no longer lie in your bed and forget yourself. Forget the Draco that I've known so fondly for so long._

_So I've arranged what I can to ensure you can begin living again. So you can find the happiness we both craved in the abundant life you have left._

_I love you, mate, with all my heart. And I want you to be smiling again, laughing again. And while I can no longer be there for you, I wanted to guarantee you had one person who would care._

_I know Hermione will. You saw her cat - she'll care about any unpleasant, lonely beast. Even you._

_I love you, Draco. You're my best mate, and we'll see each other again._

_Oh, and Hermione - I apologize for the unorthodox nature of your evening this night. I didn't intend to force this upon you. Well, I did. But if I had not, Draco would have never spoken with you genuinely. He would have continued to refuse the_ **several** _lunch invites about which he has droned on and on. Would not have told you how he wishes to take you to dinner just once._

_Please do not feel as though you have no choice. If you do not wish to be near him, I cannot force you. But if you do, I will be in your debt eternal. I can only pray that you please take care of him because I no longer can._

_-Blaise_

_From the universe, we came_

_To the universe, we must return_

_PS: Thank my elves for me one last time when you see them._

Hermione's heart squeezed as if it was being ripped out of her chest as profound tears welled along her lower lid. Her hand shook slightly as she lowered the note, trying to take deep, calming breaths to soothe herself. To be strong for Draco, who likely held on to his sanity by a very thin, highly shredded fiber.

Her mind raced with the moments of their night once again. The book that had drawn her and Draco together mere hours ago. Marked intentionally for her benefit, not Draco's. Blaise had some form of muggle cancer and had recently lost his battle. 

Hermione had learned some time ago about magical people who developed cancer. It was exceedingly rare, less than ten cases each decade. But it was highly lethal. Magical beings rapid cellular regeneration accumulated cancerous cells and began to devour their host within days.

If the disease wasn't caught quickly by a Healer, it was known to kill a witch or wizard within weeks. And would incapacitate wizards suddenly, forcing them to spend agonizing final days in their beds with little movement.

Hermione let tears flow down her cheeks at the thought. Draco had likely not even had time to spend Blaise's last days with him properly. It had presumably been a shock, and Blaise had probably deteriorated too soon.

"We came here once," Draco's distraught whisper rang through the oceanic silence, and Hermione couldn't help but gaze at his back with tears welling in her eyes anew.

"Did you?" she replied, trying to ensure her voice didn't quiver.

"Mother and I came to retrieve him when his mother refused to escort him home for school. But before we left, he brought me here."

Hermione gasped a shaking breath, rolling the note and embedding it in her pocket along with the others from their night. His shoulders trembled as his sobs' noise grew louder, his head falling further downward with hopelessness.

She sought him the only comfort she perceived she could, and rounded the bench slowly, placing a soft hand on his back as the other lowered to one of his biceps. He appeared sob more profound as she traced soft, pressured circles against his back without speaking a word. Tightening her grip upon his arm for stability and resting her head against his shoulder in sympathy.

What could she say? Nothing. Nothing was alright in his universe at the moment. Everything likely appeared as though it was falling apart. Or had already shattered. Hermione remembered the feeling entirely. Nothing Hermione could utter at this moment would obstruct his unending torment.

Tears slid gradually down her cheeks, leaking against his sleeve as minutes ticked away. The sun's rays were apparent in the warm, orange sky by the time his sobs began to fade.

He sighed deeply, his head lifting toward the skyline as one of his hands settled onto hers. He squeezed once as her head raised, considering the side of his red, blotched face with sincerity.

"Another Portkey," he murmured, withdrawing his hand and extracting a small silver coin with a deep emerald M inscribed on the front from of his pocket.

"I wonder where it will take us."

"The Manor."

"How do you know?"

"Mother presented this to Blaise after our third year. His mother's husband at the time was… abusive. Mother advised him to use it if he was frightened."

He rolled the coin in his fingers, his brows knit as he closed his eyes. Inhaling intensely and sighing shakily as a new, more petite trail of tears glid down his cheeks.

"Why don't we stay? For sunrise to finish, at least," Hermione suggested, and Draco nodded slowly. "Let's sit," she indicated on a soft breath.

Hermione tugged his arm somewhat, pulling him onto the bench. Which was surrounded by yellow lilies that glistened with dew, a soft orange glow settling over them under the orange sky. Yellow lilies that seemed apt, full of meaning for Blaise's planned evening. A wishfulness to enjoy life. A desire for Draco to grow thankful for his remaining years.

"I wouldn't listen to him," Draco started, clearing their silence some moments later.

"About?"

"He informed me last month of his cancer. I refused to believe it was real. I… I barely went to see him," he spoke, tears falling quicker down his cheeks as his shoulders shook anew.

"Grief takes many shapes," Hermione muttered.

"He died Tuesday. It was so sudden."

His timbre was so blue, so heartwrenching that Hermione felt fresh tears slip from her orbs. Deep, unsettled angst that she had long ago locked away attempting to break to the surface as she perched next to Draco in his current misery.

"The hotel. We spent several weeks on holiday there a few years back."

"You've known he was responsible since then?"

"I didn't want to believe it."

"And at the party?"

"I'm not sure on that one," he said behind a watery chuckle. "Likely his way to get us together."

"I see," Hermione smiled softly.

"I'm sorry, Granger. He didn't have a right to do this to you."

"It is quite okay. I think it is rather sweet that Blaise cared so much," she replied, reflecting for a moment as she moved her gaze toward him. "And he's correct. I will care for any lonely beast," she stated as a shy smile spread across her traits.

His glistening orbs turned to hers for the first time since settling upon the precipice. His nose was somewhat red, reflecting the veins in the whites of his eyes. He looked utterly sad, the red blemishes evident against his pale skin as the path of tears glittered in the fully risen sun.

Hermione tried to smile softly, stretching out and setting her hand against his sitting atop his thigh. A grief-stricken smile lingered across his features as his fingers laced through hers. Another shuddered breath passing through his lips.

"I'm truly sorry for your loss, Draco."

"Thank you, Granger. For everything."

"When was the last time you ate?" She questioned quietly, offering him a genuine smile.

"I'm not sure."

"Would you care to get breakfast with me?" Hermione invited. "I'm certain there is delicious food in the town down there."

"Sure, Granger," he answered, smiling a touch as his tear-stained face softened. "There's a walkway along the cliffs. Truly beautiful. Let's take that."


End file.
